Sonnets, Songs, and Occasional Verses, Song

Enjoy, my child, the balmy sleep, Which o'er thy form new beauty throws; And long thy tranquil spirit keep A stranger to thy mother's woes! Tho' in distress, I feel it less, While gazing on thy sweet repose.

Condemn'd to pangs like inward fire, That thro' my injur'd bosom roll, How would my heart in death desire Relief from fortune's hard controul, Did not thy arms And infant charms To earth enchain my anxious soul!

Flow fast, my tears!—by you reliev'd, I vent my anguish thus unknown; But cease, e'er ye can be perceiv'd By this dear child, to pity prone, Whose tender heart Would seize a part In grief, that should be all my own.

Our cup of woe, which angels fill, Perchance it is my lot to drain; While that of joy, unmix'd with ill, May thus, my child, for thee remain; If thou art free, (So Heaven decree!) I bless my doom of double pain.